


Hit the Sack

by F00T



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, Crack, G1 Climax 29, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Milk, Why Did I Write This?, cursed ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 08:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F00T/pseuds/F00T
Summary: Jon Moxley has a fire in his loins and the only one equipped to deal with it is Yano Toru.





	Hit the Sack

  
  


There had been many periods in his life that Jon Moxley wanted to forget. Lies and exaggerations he had been told (by Vince McMahon), bizarre things he had been forced to wear (by Vince McMahon), inane promos he had been forced to cut (by Vince McMahon); if it were up to him, whole chunks of his memory would be blackened out because of how much those moments in his past pissed him off. But none of it needed to be erased quite as urgently as that one match did. That one disastrous match that he knew deep in his soul that he could never recover from.

“Another!” Mox growled at the hotel bartender. The man said nothing as he filled a pint glass with milk and set it in front of his inexplicably surly patron, adding to his growing collection of empty glassware. He slammed back the milk, chugging it down in one gulp, and groaned as he set the glass down hard on the bar. Out of everything that had happened so far in this tournament, why was that one, specific match the one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about? Why couldn’t he get it dislodged from his brain and move on with his life? Why was it all he could think about, so much that it drove him to drink?

Maybe, he thought, it was because of who was in that match with him.

“That goddamn Yano fucking Toru motherfucker,” he muttered, not paying attention to the exasperated face the bartender made as he slid him his twentieth glass of milk. Moxley glared at the empty space in front of him as he sipped his drink. Never in his life had he been humiliated like that. He had been through some idiotic shit in the last few years but something about being in the ring with Yano irritated every single cell in his body. Yano had sprayed water on him, hollered nonsense at him, attempted to bribe him with cash and that stupid DVD he still owed him. He had taped him to his boy Shooter to steal a win off him! And he dared call himself a goodwill ambassador?

“What the fuck is a goodwill ambassador anyway?!” Moxley shouted as he slammed his fists on the bar.

The bartender slid him his check. “Sir. You must leave. Now,” he said curtly. Mox mumbled an apology as he slipped him a stack of thousand yen notes.

He stumbled out of the bar, trying his best to collect his thoughts. It wasn’t just the fact that Yano had forced him into a count-out, his first loss of the G1, that pissed him off the most. It was the low blow that set the stage for the loss itself.

It was the fact that...maybe...he had liked it.

He punched the wall at the thought, ignoring the very pointed glares from the front desk clerk across the hotel lobby. He couldn’t handle the possibility that fucking Yano, of all people, had awakened something deep inside him and he had done so by punching him in the balls. Twice! Moxley struggled to wrap his brain around how that was even allowed. And yet every time he thought about it (and fucking hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about it) he could feel every nerve ending from his brain to his cock screaming fire and electricity. It was painful, yes, but in a way he craved more than anything. He wanted more. He wanted that agony if only to prove how much he could withstand, how much stronger he was than it. He hated it. Fuck, he hated how much he desired it. 

The purveyor of violence was tougher than any violence that the sublime master thief could purvey upon his scrotum, god damn it. He wanted, he needed, he absolutely craved for Yano to know that.

He just wished he didn’t have to seek out Yano himself to prove that he could handle the pain.

Moxley stumbled through the hallways, counting room numbers until he recognized the one belonging to his young lion. “Shooter!” he yelled as he pounded on the door. “Shooter, man, I need you! It’s important!”

Shota Umino cracked the door, clearly having been woken from a good night’s rest. He mumbled an apology, only to be interrupted by his belligerent friend roughly grabbing his shoulder through the gap.

“Shooter, fuck, I’m so glad you’re awake,” he said, his voice slurring heavily. “I need you to do me a huge favor. Something I wouldn’t ask of anyone else. Please, Shooter, you’re my best friend, right?”

“I’m not-” Shota said.

Moxley didn’t wait for him to finish. “I need you to punch me in the balls, Shooter. Just fucking nail me. Hit me right in the nuts. I’m trying to prove something to myself, Shooter. One stiff shot, right in the jubblies, that’s all I need. I know you can do this for me, man. Scramble my baby juice, Shooter. Right now, right here. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”

Shota shook his head and tried his best to tell his friend that he was sorry in between his yawns. Maybe in the morning. Right now, he was too tired. Mox withdrew his arm and groaned dramatically as the young lion pulled the door shut.

_ “What the heck is his problem, Umino-san?” _ Ren said as Shota stumbled back to his bed.  _ “Isn’t he ashamed to be that drunk in public?” _

_ “Oh, he doesn’t actually drink alcohol. He’s just really committed to an aesthetic,” _ said Shota.

_ “God, why do you even hang out with him? He’s so weird.” _ _   
_

_ “You’re just jealous because none of the main roster guys want to you to tag along with them. And have you seen the coat he gave me? Hella cool.” _

Ren rolled his eyes harder than he ever had in his life.  _ “Do you even understand what he’s yelling about half the time? You and I both know your English is shit, Umino-san.” _

_ “Of course I know what he’s saying! We have a special connection. Like, between our brains. You wouldn’t understand it, Narita-san.” _

They could both hear Jon Moxley’s muffled yelling through the hotel room door, something about how if Shooter couldn’t help him, he’d have to go find Yano instead.

_ “What was he going on about just now, then?” _

_ “I dunno, something about us hitting some balls around together. Perhaps he wants me to play catch with him tomorrow. Calisthenics, y'know.” _

_ "Right. Sure. That is definitely something worth screaming about at 1 a.m,” _ Ren grumbled. _ “But if you won’t get rid of your dumb gaijin so we can both sleep, I’ll do it." _

Moxley’s open-palmed pounding on the hotel room door was interrupted by Ren Narita pulling it open. “Moxley-san, please,” he muttered. “It is very late. You say you want to find Yano-san? He’s in room 405. Good night.”

He nearly struck the door one last time as Ren shut it but stopped himself. The young lion was right. If a blow to his most sensitive bits was what he was craving, he couldn’t cheat himself. He needed to go to the master. He needed Yano Toru.

With a bit of a struggle, Mox finally made it up to Yano's floor. He teetered down the hallway, only managing to stay vertical long enough to reach room 405. He crashed against the door, leaning against it as he knocked.

"Yano, I know you're in there," he hissed, his knocking becoming more persistent. Yano answered the door after what felt like an eternity to him. He was wearing a long, plush bathrobe, oversized furry slippers, and a long, pointed nightcap. Jon couldn't help but fixate on the cap. Where on earth did he manage to buy such a thing? Was all the milk messing with his mind? Who the fuck still slept in a hat straight out of the 1800s?

"Moxley-san, I will have you know that you are being quite the irritant!" Yano said. "If you don't stop causing disturbances, I'll have to turn you in to the Yano Toru Community Watch Organization."

Moxley groaned. "Man, what the fuck, all I need is one thing. Just help me out real quick and I'll stop. I didn't want it to come to this, but you're the only one I need right now, Yano. Just...punch me in the nards. Gimme a good ol' bollocks-smashing. Rattle my barnacles. Do your stupid low blow shit so I can just get this out of my system."

Yano stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. "A public nuisance and a pervert as well? I’ll have to upgrade this to the police," he exclaimed. 

"Come on, man! I'm serious. Just slam me in the clams, Yano, and I'll be satisfied," Moxley said, dropping to his knees.

"Hmmm...five thousand yen," said Yano.

“Five thou- oh, come on! For a single nut shot?”

Yano absent-mindedly fiddled with the tail of his nightcap. “If you can’t spare six thousand yen in exchange for your perversion, I can’t help you, Moxley-san.”

“But you just said-”

“Eight thousand, I said? A small price to pay, surely.”

Moxley was quickly growing exasperated. “Fuck off, I don’t have that kind of cash on me. Why do you gotta be like this, man?”

Yano shook his head solemnly. “Ten thousand yen. That’s the lowest I’ll go, and I’m doing you a favor at that.”

“Man...fuck you, Yano,” Moxley said through gritted teeth. “All I had was one simple request. Fuck you, and fuck your shady business practices, and especially fuck your stupid sleep hat! What do you even need that for? Fuck it all!” He stood up, still stumbling a bit, and turned to leave the room when he felt it.

Yano Toru’s fist, quick and hard as anything, crashing up between his legs and against his testicles and directly into his strangest and most terrible, beautiful dreams. He collapsed to the ground, letting the pain rush over him in waves. Was he tough enough for it? He shuddered and tried to maintain his strength, but he couldn’t help but submit to the intensity radiating from his groin throughout his entire body.

Jon Moxley wasn’t religious but he swore he could see the Lord in that moment. It looked like Yano Toru.

**Author's Note:**

> *shrug*
> 
> (Antidote to this provided by [@newd_japan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520932))


End file.
